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for a smoke. It was an Asian wearing a long coat. He had a straggly beard and a hooked nose and looked for all the world like the Kalashnikov-toting nutters he kept seeing on the evening news. The man came up to the bar and stared at his reflection in the mirrored gantry.
    Kenny finished pouring the second pint, took the money and gave the man his change. He put his hands on the bar and nodded at the new arrival. ‘What can I get you?’ he asked.
    The man turned slowly to look at him, a slight frown on his face.
    ‘What can I get you?’ Kenny repeated.
    The man’s right hand shot out and grabbed Kenny’s arm. Kenny pulled back but the man’s other hand appeared and clamped a handcuff around his wrist. ‘What are you doing?’ shouted Kenny. He pulled back and the chain linked to the man’s left wrist tightened. The man yanked it and the metal bit into Kenny’s flesh, making him grunt in pain. The two men Kenny had just served were watching what was going on, their pints forgotten. ‘What the hell are you doing?’ shouted Kenny.
    Bonnie stared in horror at the Asian man as he used his right hand to unbutton his coat and reveal that he was wearing an explosive-packed suicide vest.
    ‘
Allahu Akbar!
’ shouted the man, reaching into his coat pocket. He pulled out a metal trigger and held it above his head. ‘Everyone do exactly as I say or we all die!’

WELLINGTON BARRACKS (12.02 p.m.)
    The Chinook did a slow circle two hundred feet above Wellington Barracks, then slowly descended to make a textbook landing in the centre of the parade ground. The twin rotors continued to whir as the back ramp lowered and eight SAS troopers came out, toting black kitbags.
    Major Haydyn Williams was standing at the edge of Tarmac Square, a line of four black SUVs behind him. The men jogged over and formed a line in front of him, then dropped their bags beside them. All eight were part of the SAS’s special projects team, specialising in anti-hijacking and counter-terrorism.
    ‘For those of you who haven’t been watching the news, there’s been a spate of hostage-taking incidents across London this morning,’ said Williams, who had lost most, but not all, of his Welsh accent during his eight-year stint with the SAS. ‘The hostage-takers appear to be linked to ISIS and are wearing suicide vests. In each case the terrorist has handcuffed himself to a member of the public. It’s a delicate situation, to put it mildly.’
    The Chinook’s engines roared and it lifted off, heading back to Hereford. The men kept their heads turned away from the rotor blast and the major waited until the deafening roar had faded before continuing. ‘This is how it’s going to work,’ he said. ‘You’re to be attached to the various armed police units attending the four incidents around the capital. You will be acting under the orders of the local Silver Commander in each case. For those of you not familiar with the way the cops operate, a Silver Commander is in charge on site. Usually an inspector but not always. He in turn reports to a Gold Commander, who in this case is at the special operations room in Lambeth. The Gold Commander decides overall strategy, the Silver Commander makes decisions on the ground. You do what the Silver Commander says. But I also want you using our own comms to stay in touch with Captain Alex Murray. He’s in the SOR so he’ll always have the big picture.’
    The men nodded. Most of them were chewing gum, the only sign of the building tension.
    ‘Under no circumstances are you even to think of firing your weapon without being ordered to do so by the Silver Commander,’ said the major. ‘At the moment the cops are running the show so we have to play by their rules.’
    ‘What about if we come under attack, boss?’ asked a trooper. Ben Peyton was one of the youngest members of the group, though he had already seen plenty of action in Afghanistan and Syria. He was the linguist specialist in his four-man patrol,